Firefly In the Blink of an Eye
by millenium-writer
Summary: Another stop on Persephone, another irritating visit from Badger. With the promise of work, and some 'assistance' to sweeten the deal, not to mention a plate full of sandwiches, Badger convinces Mal to do the job. Post Firefly, Pre Those left behind.
1. Chapter 1

**Alliance/Independent front**

**November 23rd 2510**

Explosions shook the earth, and fire rained from the sky, bombarding the Independents as they fought to hold what ground they had claimed. It was a small patch of good for nothing dirt, on a small and good for nothing planet.

But it was theirs.

Troops marched, all in a line, wearing new, spotless, bright purple uniforms and bits of armor that faintly gleamed in the orange flashes of mortar bombardment. Freshly fabricated repeaters spat shells towards a cluster of ruined buildings.

Some hit flesh, but more often than not they struck dirt, stone, and other non-fleshy surfaces, drawing more dust than blood. The Alliance trainers drilled the importance of a uniform squad into the new recruits over and over again, stating that a rag-tag bunch of drunks with guns was no match for a trained, orderly squad.

The men that survived two or three battles with the Browncoats learned to take cover very quickly when the shooting started. Out gunned, out teched, and out manned more than three to one, the Independents still drew enough blood to make even a seasoned soldier want to cling to cover unless he had decent artillery. And at least a dozen tanks to go with it.

One particular unit of troops, the 57th Overlanders, or the 'Balls and Bayonets' Brigade were known for not only getting the worst of the war, but also for drawing the most blood. Two members in the specific, one Malcolm Reynolds, and one Zoe Alleyne, owned more than a third share of that blood between them. Few Alliance troops learned their names, but then, few alliance troops stood against them and lived to tell the tale. Not a one ever got the chance to ask them what their names were, and would they kindly stop shooting so much in their direction, thank you very much.

Today was a day like any other. That meant that smoke hung in the air, mingled with the scent of earth, explosives, shattered metal, burned flesh, and spilt blood.

Chewing the inside of his cheek to keep from gagging, Douglas ducked his head as a mortar shell threw clods of dirt into the air. Shattered bodies and ruined weapons rained down on him as he tugged back the bolt on his rifle, a grim look on his face as he tucked the stock against his shoulder. Pressing his cheek to the gun, he raised the iron sights up to his eye level, and panned a little to the side.

From his perspective, he could see the dark metal dot of the post sight settle on the chest of an Alliance officer worrying a bit too much about yelling at his troops, and a whole lot less about the cover he was taking. Taking a breath and holding it in, Douglas waited for the dot to settle, and the flutter in his stomach to pass. The former did, the latter didn't, so he squeezed the trigger and watched a fair chunk of the officer's face disappear in a flash of red.

Hunkering down in the ditch his unit was taking cover in, he pressed a hand over his stomach, resting his rifle over his thighs. The noise was too loud, the flashes were too bright, and the smell, the _smell_...

"Hey! Blinky!" Someone called out from a few yards away. It was hard to see much of anything with all the haze looming over the ditch, and the inky darkness intermittently broken up by blinding flashes of light weren't helping. "Your belly bothering you again?"

Dropping onto his stomach, Douglas crawled along the length of the ditch until a hand slapped down on his shoulder, took a grip on his jacket, and hauled him over against a pair of legs. "For such a miserable man, you sure do seem intent on living long enough to suffer a whole heap more." Lifting his head, Douglas focused on the most cheerful smile he had ever seen, come peacetime or war.

"Sarge, you know how-" Another mortar shell exploded somewhere close by, drowning out the rest of his sentence. Grumbling, Douglas forced himself to get up onto his hands and knees, and move his face closer to that undamageablebly cheerful expression. "You know how much the smell bothers me."

"I swear Blinky, you could be laying in a heap of roses, and you'd still gripe about your belly." Grabbing Douglas by the shoulders, the utterly relaxed man pulled him up and turned him around, setting the formerly crawling Browncoat back first against the side of the ditch, between himself and a woman.

"I wouldn't know Sarge, I ain't never been on a heap of roses 'afore." Douglas Tirthon, as his mother named him, was gifted with very steady hands, and cursed with an equally unsteady stomach. Of dark hair, medium height, and middling charm, he stood out with his slender build and pale skin. Most of the unit called him simply Doug, or 'you there' when they wanted him for something.

Malcolm Reynolds called him Blinky, on account of how he always blinked a lot when he didn't have a rifle against his cheek. Mal swore he never saw the man blink when he had a gun against his face, never once. "Well Blinky, when we win this thing, I promise you many a lovely woman will make sweet tender love to you atop a whole heap of roses." Grinning as Douglas blinked, he continued. "Every night."

"Sir, roses have thorns." Now Douglas recognized the woman. He should have known sooner, but there were a small handful of women serving in the brigade. Only one with such hard eyes though.

Zoe.

Nodding once at the fellow Browncoat, Douglas got one in return. Zoe was not a woman to be taken lightly, joked about, or spoken to much really. If you weren't good to her, you got out of her way before she _made_ you get out of her way. If you were useful, Zoe made sure you were brought to her Sergeant's attention, and Mal had a way of always keeping useful people about him. If Zoe liked you, she had a way of showing it.

Mainly giving you the time of day once in a blue moon. Or gutting an Alliance trooper that was sneaking up with the intent of scattering your brains about willy-nilly. Douglas had seen that happen once, up close and attentive like, and he had made good and sure to never let anyone creep up on his person again.

Because Zoe _scared_ him.

"Any idea what you'll be doing when this is over Sarge?" Blinky pulled his rifle up so the barrel rested against his shoulder. Between Zoe and Mal, there wasn't enough space to lay the weapon across his thighs. Packed in tight between the two bodies, Douglas suddenly got a notion into his head that the reason Mal had called out to him in the first place was that it was cold out, and he and Zoe had simply wanted another body to add some heat.

"I plan on-" A sharp crack, and a body slumped in the ditch a few feet away. "... Getting to the point of callin' you over Blinky." Grabbing the man by the shoulder, Mal turned him around, and inched his way up to the edge of the ditch. "There's been an Alliance sniper making me all shades of miserable, and I'd like it if you could persuade him to crawl off and die somewhere else."

Nodding, Blinky pulled his rifle up alongside himself, and pressed down flat in the dirt. Easing the weapon out, he tipped it on it's side, on account of being pressed so flat in the dirt he didn't have the space to properly shoulder it. Craning his neck to an angle that was all manner of uncomfortable, he slipped his hand around the grip, resting the barrel over the back of his hand.

Zoe shot Mal one of her are-you-sure-it-was-such-a-bright-idea-to-call-him-over looks.

Sliding the safety off with his thumb, Blinky took a breath, sighting down along the barrel. There was a sharp crack, and a brief flash illuminated his face. Snapping the safety back on, Blinky eased himself back into the ditch, turned around, and let out a sigh. Holding his rifle against his chest with one hand, he pressed the other against his middle.

Turning to look at Zoe, Mal raised himself up on his arms, not to look for the hidden sniper, but simply to prove a point. His expression, as he lowered himself down alongside Blinky, clearly said _Look at how I'm not having my head blown off._ Grinning, Mal reached out to rest an arm over Blinky's shoulders. "Blinky, you keep shooting like that, and we'll win this war 'afore dinner time."

**Seven years later**

**Persephone**

"And I do believe this job may be right up your alley." Badger leaned back in his chair, folding his hands upon his desk, a smug grin plastered across his grimy face.

_I will agree to anything, ANYTHING, to shut him up right now._ Mal would never admit that out loud, so instead, he picked up another finger sandwich, and lifted it towards his mouth. "Sounds simple enough, when do I get introduced to this man of yours?" Jayne had plucked the last two out of his hand as he tried to get a bite in between jibes at Badger, and Mal was determined not to let this one to suffer the same fate.

Badger had been going on for several minutes now, and it was almost enough for Zoe's eyes to start rolling. As Mal often said though, _never let a client know he's boring you, or he may take a chunk of of your coin, or worse, you_. So instead, she focused her energy on giving Badger's hired guns as dark a glare as humanly possible. Badger must have informed the men of the crew's reputation, since they had become increasingly more fidgety as the glare persisted.

Jayne, on the other hand, was focusing his considerable mental energies on a task that suited him well; seeing how many of the little sandwiches he could get down into his gut before Mal wrapped up the negotiations. Two thirds of the plate were down, and if he could manage to get that one out of Mal's hand, then he was sure he'd manage the whole bunch. "Frankly, I like the idea of having his man come with us." Jayne's voice was slightly muffled by cucumber and bacon. "Gives me another body to loot when we're done."

The self satisfied grin vanished from Badger's face as he shot Jayne a dirty look, then turned the look on Mal as he grinned at the amusing words that came between bits of food from Jayne's lips. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't bury this one Mal." Badger leaned forward in his seat, as if the reduced distance could ever make Reynolds ever appreciate him any less. "I went to considerable expense and negotiations to net me this one." Badger leaned back in his seat again, the smug look once again returning to his grimy mug.

"And who's the poor sucker you done went and roped in with your unwashed charm?" Lifting his sandwich to his lips, Mal opened his mouth a little wider to accept Badger's generous, and therefore unimpressive, offering.

A groan, as familiar as the pale face it issued from, drifted into the room off to Badger's right. "Ugh, you used too much perfume again."

"Cologne." Badger irritatedly corrected as he leaned forward over his desk again.

Not that Mal had noticed. His eyes were fixed on the familiar, ever suffering face across the room from him.

"Huh, you know him or somethin'?" Jayne, as clueless as ever, swooped in to claim the sandwich that had dropped from Mal's limp fingers.

-

_Take my love, take my land, take me where I cannot stand..._

Well, you all know how the rest of it goes. That's my introduction, the cold start before the title, as it were. My first shot at writing Firefly, and I'm a bit nervous here.

Obviously, I want something that will entertain all you Browncoats, but also, I want to get as close as I can to the 'verse that the creator envisioned, and do the characters some justice. I really do.

From my end of the fic, that's that most important part. I had a little trouble sliding into the mindset of the slightly 'off' way the dialogue is delivered, I wrote the first four paragraphs, oh, many months ago. Maybe as many as six. The rest was done in a flurry of typing between this afternoon, and last night.

Jayne. Now, he caused me some trouble, as I had to seat his actions and dialogue just right. I wanted to try and capture his... I wanna say 'snarky mannerisms' but really, I just wanted a Jayne-ism to end the thing on. I really don't like how Jayne's first dialogue bit comes out, but I can't seem to find a way to tune it any more than I already have. Eh, let me know what you think, will you?

Mal, on the other hand, I am the most proud of. I will allow my fragile self one little bit of ego as to say that I could not have done any better when it comes to Mal. Though, Zoe is a close second in perfection, I think.

Drawing to the point of all this rambling, is I need a favor from you.

I'd like you to let me know how I did, what mistakes I've made, and all in all, tell me if I should quit while I'm ahead, or keep forging on boldly.

Do I pick up my Brown coat, or do I grab my bag of popcorn? That, dear reader, I leave to you.

You, and the rest of the Browncoats.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mal, this 'ere is my man-"

"Douglas Tirthon." Mal finished for Badger, slowly rising from his seat, his eyes locked on the pale face.

"That's right." A look of mild surprise crossed over Badger's grimy mug. "You two know each other?" He was in the process of pushing back his chair to stand up, when Mal's hand drifted down towards his gun. "Hold on 'ere Mal, I said not to bury this one!"

"He ain't dead yet." Zoe and Jayne followed Mal's lead and stood as well, drawing their weapons and sighting on Badger's men, who were in the process of reaching for their own. Drawing the brass finished pistol he had carried since the end of the war, Mal gestured with the barrel, politely indicating for Douglas to move. "Outside. Now."

Turning, Douglas looked at Badger for a moment. "Have my case sent to his ship." The pale man's expression had completely changed, a hard look in his eyes as he stared at Mal with that unblinking gaze of his. "Lead the way."

"Next time Badger, make more sandwiches." Turning, Mal stalked out of Badger's 'office'. "Jayne, Zoe." The pair let Douglas pass before backing out of the room, keeping their guns trained on Badger's hired thugs.

Badger eased himself back into his chair, staring at the empty doorway Mal had passed through. "I do hate working with that man."

-

"-And so I said to him, 'I wasn't born a preacher son'." With some effort, Shepherd Book helped Wash set down the last of the supply crates. The crew had made a fair bit of coin on the last job, and had taken this rare advantage to restock on some badly needed supplies.

"Really, 'cause, I could see it." Brushing his hands off on his Hawaiian shirt, a blue and green one this time, Wash grinned and leaned against the stack of crates. "Tottling around, blessing the other tottler's cats, annointing dollies, casting out the heathen mice."

"Well, I-" The hatch groaned open, interrupting whatever Bookish wisdom Shepherd Book had been about to part with.

"Hey, you guys just made it in time. The Shepherd here was about to tell me all about the time he- woah, hold on." Wash held up his hands at shoulder level. "Why all the guns?"

Striding onto the ship, Mal turned about, and brandished his pistol at Douglas. "Now this is my ship, and my crew. Means my rules." Zoe and Jayne still had their guns trained on Douglas' back, awaiting whatever Mal had planned. "And that means what I say goes. I ask the questions, and you give the answers, got that?"

Douglas nodded, no trace of any emotion on his pale face. "Now, the first question is... How did you ever wind up working for that go tsao de kuh-ooh duh lao bao jurn?" Mal holstered his pistol, a wide grin on his face. Chuckling, he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Douglas, thumping him on the back several times.

Shaking her head, Zoe lowered her carbine, a small smile curving her lips. Jayne, on the other hand, still held his pistol up, a look of plain confusion on his face. "We're not gonna shoot him?" He muttered, partly to Zoe, mostly to himself.

For a reply, Zoe simply shook her head again, and walked over to stand behind the Captain. Glancing back at Wash, Zoe sighed. "Dear, put your hands down."

Smiling sheepishly, Wash lowered his hands. "Sorry, reflex."

"Ah, Sarge, you know how the 'verse is these days." Patting Mal on the back, Douglas pried himself away from the more than enthusiastic back slapping. "Zoe." As always, Zoe's reply was a curt nod. "Uh, hello, everyone else."

"Where are my manners? This here's our pilot, Wash." Wash, as cheerful as ever, gave a little wave in greeting. "Shepherd Book." The Preacher smiled and nodded. "You've already met Jayne." Jayne just stood there, still confused, until Mal reached over and shoved the barrel of Jayne's pistol down towards the floor. "And-" Mal looked around, puzzled. "Wash, where's the Doc and Kaylee?"

Wash, in the middle of slinking up to hug his wife from behind, jolted a little, startled at the sudden attention while he was in 'affection mode'. "Uh? Oh, uh... Well, the Doc's in the med bay, giving Riv- er..." Wash's cheery tone faltered at the sudden glare Mal shot him. "Giving, riva, flavin, itamin... Uh... Performing a checkup. And uh, Kaylee's up in Inara's shuttle... Um, talkin' about... Girlie stuff?"

"Right, well, best not to interrupt." Mal was all smiles once more, making no explanation of the brief harsh look he had given Wash. "Gentlemen, this here's Blinky." Mal made a quick flourish with one hand, as if that would make the man look anything but plain. The attempt failed, so Mal shrugged and continued. "Blinky here served with me an' Zoe back in the day. Best damn shot with a rifle you ever did see."

Unimpressed, Jayne snorted and holstered his pistol, turning to walk farther into the ship. "I'll be in my bunk."

Blinky and the crew watched Jayne stalk off for a moment. "Well, he seems nice."

"I hope you're kidding." Wash, arms now fully wrapped around Zoe's middle, found himself on the receiving end of the beginnings of a smile, that turned into a full blown stare of disbelief. "You are kidding... Right?"

Zoe looked at Blinky for a moment, then seemed to realize what the problem was. "Blinky, this is my husband, Wash."

"I thought he was the pilot?"

"I can be both." Wash fairly beamed. "I'm multi-talented. Sometimes I can do both at once too." Wash let out a grunt as Zoe's elbow dug between his ribs. "Fly the ship and... Ert. And be married, I mean."

"Right." Nodding slowly, as if Wash was slightly off his rocker, which was probably partly correct, Blinky turned to look about. "This here's a nice ship you got yourself Sarge."

"Yup." Mal grinned, tilting his head back to admire the rust spots on the catwalk leading to the upper deck. "She's a real beauty ain't she?"

"She's, uh, something all right." Blinky chewed on the inside of his cheek a few times. "What do you ca-"

"Serenity." Mal didn't look away from the rusty bits on the catwalk, noting that the paint was peeling in places on the hand rails where the rust wasn't flaking off.

Blinky looked about silently for a moment, before nodding. "Good name." Taking a breath, he found himself nodding again. "She'll do."

"If I may Captain, what exactly is an old friend of yours doing coming aboard so suddenly?" At the sudden look Mal shot him, Book countered with a don't-take-me-for-a-fool look.

"Got trade." Turning, Mal began walking towards the steps leading up to the second level.

"So, we're not having Peking duck for lunch then?" Wash called after the Captain.

-

"This here's our Engineer, Kaylee. Best in the 'verse." At Mal's glowing introduction, Kaylee's face lit up like a fusion drive.

"Looks too pretty to be mucking about in an engine if you ask me Sarge." If Kaylee had been glowing before, she did a fair impression of a star going nova at Blinky's words.

"Oh, well, machines just talk to me." Humble as ever, Kaylee brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, the rest of the brown mass tied up at the back of her head, held out of the way of any moving parts that could drag her head into a painful situation.

"And Kaylee, this here's Blinky." Again, Mal made that flourish gesture that tried, and failed to make up for Blinky's oh so plain looks. "Best shot with a rifle the Independents ever did see."

"You don't look like much of a killer." Kaylee looked Blinky up and down, noting his too thin build for his height, and his hands, which were much too clean when compared to Kaylee's own grease stained fingernails.

"Fair enough, I don't feel like much of one either." Smiling a little, Blinky ducked his head. Truth be told, he didn't see himself as much of a killer, just a man who knew how to hold a gun still.

"So why're you aboard Serenity? Come lookin' for work with the Cap'n?" Kaylee fiddled with the zipper on the front of her jumpsuit, feeling as if this were some sort of arranged date set up by Mal, who was still fairly looming over the two of them.

"Found work, got Badger to thank for that." Mal gave Kaylee's shoulder a little squeeze. "Think we could cut off a little time dirtside and take off early?"

"Aww, but Cap'nnnn..." Kaylee turned on the doe-eyed stare, her lower lip sticking out in a pout. "Serenity ain't had her gear serviced in over four months, she could really use the attention. Not to mention the primary buffer panel."

"Kaylee, this job goes well, we could afford a whole new set a landing gear." It was amazing how Kaylee went from 'pout and fuss' to 'squeel with glee, hug the Captain, and scamper off as fast as she could', it really was. "Ah, the pitter-patter of tiny feet in huge combat boots."

"Sarge-"

"That case a yours arrived yet? I want us into the black as soon as possible. Don't got time to be sittin' around." Mal turned and walked behind the kitchen counter, reaching back to pull a bowl out of a cupboard.

"It'll be here soon Sarge." Blinky pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. All in all, introductions had gone fairly well, though he had yet to meet this mysterious 'Doctor' of Mal's. "What th- tzao gao!" Blinky fairly jumped out of his seat, tipping the chair over in the process.

"Hm?" Mal, with his usual haste, was already shoveling rice into his mouth. "Waff fong?"

"Something grabbed my leg! You got- ah, hello." Blinking, Blinky leaned over, staring at something under the table. There was a mumbled reply that Mal didn't catch, and Blinky shook his head. "No, I don't know if my mother knows about the dirt behind my ears." Blinky nodded. "Yes, it is important to write home often." There was another mumble, and Blinky opened his mouth, then closed it, looking puzzled.

Mal, having a feeling as to just what was going on, swallowed the mostly chewed rice, and opened his mouth. "I can expla-"

"Hang on, I'll ask." Straightening up, Blinky looked over at Mal. "Sarge, is the unwashed lummox in his bunk, or did he get himself killed yet?"

Jaw hanging wide open, Mal just stared at Blinky. His brain was trying to put two and two together, but it kept coming up with nineteen and a quarter. "Huh? Y'mean... Jayne?"

Blinky shrugged. "I guess." Mal nodded dumbly. "He says yes." There was another mumble. "Hang on. Sarge, do you mean he's dead, or just in his bunk?" Mal nodded again. "...Bunk, I guess." Peering under the table, Blinky nodded a last time, then reached up to grab the bowl that was sitting there. "Sure thing." Passing the half eaten portion of rice and the chopsticks under the table, Blinky waved and walked over to lean against the kitchen counter across from Mal.

"Uhhh..."

"Nice kid." Blinky glanced back at the table for a moment, where a pair of bare feet attached to slender ankles could be seen sticking out from the thick shadow cast by the wooden tabletop. "She yours?"

"Mine what?"

-

"Hello? Oh good, you're not naked." Striding into Inara's shuttle, Mal glanced about as he always did, even though he probably knew the layout by heart by now.

"Captain, what have I told you about barging into my shuttle un-" Setting down her tea, Inara was halfway to her feet when Mal cut her off.

"Got company, no time for manners." Turning back to the doorway, he called out over his shoulder. "It's ok, you can come in, she's not naked." Turning back, Mal gave a blank look at Inara's protracted stare. "What?"

"I-" Again, Inara was cut off, this time by the entrance of Blinky.

"Inara, this here's Douglas Tir-" Frowning, Mal turned to look back at Blinky, hand in mid-flourish. "... Blinky."

Blinky and Inara both stared at Mal.

"I've given up on trying to make you look good. Sorry Blinky."

Shaking his head, Blinky patted Mal on the arm. "Not even you could win that battle Sarge." Turning his attention to Inara, he ducked his head a little. "Pleased to meet you, sorry for intruding."

"Not at all, it's nice to have someone with manners barging in for once." Shooting Mal a look, Inara continued speaking. "A friend of Mal's is usually welcome." Inara smiled. "What brings you to Serenity?"

"Crime." Smiling, Mal walked over and flopped onto the closest flat, overly padded, velvety surface.

"I should have guessed." Rolling her eyes at Mal, she turned back to examine Blinky. Inara was a woman of many talents, no small thanks to her Companion training, as well as her natural gifts. After a few moments of quiet reflection, she smiled. "You've spent some time on the inner planets I see."

Off to the side, Mal jolted a little. It was no secret that he had no great love of the Alliance, but it did come as a surprise that anyone, even Inara, would think about joking that a Browncoat was in cahoots with them.

Blinky, as was typical for his character, blinked. "How could you tell?"

The fact that he didn't deny it surprised Mal all the more.

"That patch on your sleeve." Inara brushed a finger across the green embroidered lettering, set on a field of dark grey. "_Carpe diem, carpe nocetm._ 'Seize the day, seize the night.' The motto of Alliance long shot experts." Turning, Inara walked back to the seat she had occupied before Mal had barged in, using the moment she had her back turned to Blinky to give Mal a significant look. "Tea?"

Mal, as an expert liar and thief, was easily able to hide his surprise when a situation called for it. "Huh?" When he _remembered_ it was important.

Blinky, himself a simple man, merely blinked at Inara for a few moments. "Uh, yes, please." Walking over, he knelt on the floor at Inara's small table, directly across from her.

Screwing his features up as he tried to coax more effort out of the small rodent turning the wheels in his head, Mal leaned forward, resting a hand on his thigh. "How do you know what that means? Them... Funny sounding words." He made a vague swirling gesture in the air with his other hand. "Sounded like something about carpets."

Pouring a cup of fragrant tea, Inara set it before Blinky, and returned the teapot to the small heater beside her. "Mal, not every man I attend it a merchant." Curling her slender fingers about her own cup, Inara lifted it to her lips, inhaling the aroma before allowing herself a small sip.

"Yes, well..." Searching for a properly snappy comeback, and finding none, Mal stood up. "Best be introducing Blinky to the Doc then." Grabbing Blinky by the back of his jacket, Mal hauled the man to his feet as he hastily set down his cup, and dragged him out of Inara's quarters.

Staring at the door for a while, Inara reached over, and carefully picked up Blinky's cup by the top of the rim. Pouring the untouched tea back into the pot, she moved over to her trunk, and after a few moments of searching, produced a small slim case from under a stack of folded unmentionables. It was true that a Companion was trained in a great many fields of skill, but some were more unique than others.

Returning to her seat, Inara opened the case, pulling out a rather fluffy brush, and a small container of powder.

-

The walk to the Medical room was rather brisk, and full of enthralling conversation.

Right up until Mal hauled Blinky into the Medical room and slammed him into the wall. "I've known you for how many ruttin' years, and now I find out you're a gorram purple-belly?" To say Mal was scary when he was angry, was to say that Jayne was lightly rude and only a tad uneducated.

"Is there a problem?"

Mal halfway jerked around, staring for a moment before realizing who he was looking at. "... Not at all Doctor. What makes you think there's a problem?"

Simon stared for a moment before replying in his usual, somewhat patronizing tone. "Aside from the fact that you seem to be assaulting a strange man in my Medical room?" He paused a beat before continuing on. "Or did you catch him sleeping around on you?"

Both Mal and Blinky stared wide-eyed at Simon in shock.

Simon lowered his voice in a mock-conspiratorial tone. "It wasn't Jayne, was it?"

"Sarge, does everybody on this ship not like that guy?" Blinky turned a little to look around the room for another exit, in case it turned out ugly, and he needed to make a quick escape.

"What would make you think that, besides the truth?" Walking over to a counter top, Simon began tidying up, collecting assorted pill bottles and hypodermics and returning them to their places in his medical bag. "So, you're horrible killing machine that's come aboard thanks to the Captain's smelly friend."

Again, caught off guard, Mal released Blinky's collar and stepped away from him. "Who told you that?"

"Kaylee, who else?" Zipping up the bag, Simon set it on his little shelf close by the door, ready to be at had if he needed to run across the ship to treat someone. "You know, the last time we had business with woodchuck-"

"Badger." Blinky corrected.

"Stinky." Mall amended.

"Him, I had to treat the Captain for a sword wound." Simon looked both men in the eye in turn.

"Doctor, I give you my word of honor, I will not start any sword fights... If I can help it."

Blinky turned to stare at Mal. "You have a sword?"

"Didn't say I had one, just got stabbed by it." Mal reflected on how he had grown since then. He hadn't gone about participating in any duels for quite some time now.

"Well, I ain't a Fed Sarge." Blinky straightened his jacket some. "I just shot firebombers for them."

"I thought I recognized you." Simon reached back into his long memory, pulling up a dimly recalled newswave. "The Red Shadow affair on Osiris. Somebody tried to burn down a tax collection facility four years ago, incited a gang from the Blackout Zones to try the same thing a week later."

Mal digested this, and came up with a conclusion. "You were in a gang?" The _wrong_ conclusion.

Simon stared at Mal for a moment, before realizing that he wasn't kidding. "Have you been having any dizzy spells, nausea, or moments of memory loss?"

"No, why?"

"Because I think you've got a nasty concussion there." Simon reached over and peeled one of Mal's eyelids back, staring intently at his pupil. "Some difficulty in following normal speech and using common sense is normal."

Swatting Simon's hand away, Mal gave him an irritated glare.

"Sarge, I signed up with the peace keepers as a plea bargain." Blinky glanced at Simon for a moment. "It was that, or let the Alliance sentence me as a war criminal."

"What were your options?" Simon found himself interested. He hadn't heard of any former Independents actually joining up to work for their enemy.

"Five years service and training as a sharp shooter, or the death penalty." Blinky felt a little comforted by the somewhat horrified expression on Simon's face.

"And?" Mal's tone shifted to his usual '_I'm a thug, so what?'_ manner.

"And I took the job. Spent five years teaching idiot peace officers how to hit the broad side of a Cruiser. My time came up, they offered me a commission, said they'd forget that I committed treason against the rightful government."

"So what did you do?" Now Simon was swept up in the tale. Perhaps it was all the time he spent around Mal, or that hospital robbery he had hired the crew to do for him after he had planned it.

"I took the commission, ordered a crate of guns and equipment, got them to forward me my first month's salary. Then I blew up my personal Spinner, and hopped planet with the goods." Blinky closed his eyes, reflecting on the life he could have had, and those left behind.

Mal grinned in spite of his former anger. "Then you hooked up with our deal mutual nose-sore Badger."

"So, 'm I forgiven Sarge?" Blinky opened his eyes again, a little surprised to see a cheerful expression on Mal's face again.

"Blinky, how could I ever stay mad at you? You're just too pretty to hate." Clapping a hand over Blinky's shoulder, he jostled the slim man back and forth a few times in an overly friendly gesture.

Simon shook his head a little and turned, walking past the pair and out of the Medical room, a faint smile on his lips.

"So, Sarge... Why'd you name your ship Serenity, and your daughter River?"

"Uh..."

Simon darted back into the Med room, an expression of shock on his face. "What?"

Staring for a moment, Mal flashed a wide grin. "Blinky, this here's our Doctor, Simon. Simon, Blinky. Now that you two have met..." Mal stepped between the two men, and made a hasty exit.

-

_I don't care, I'm still free, you can't take the sky from me..._

Chapter two is up. Hopefully I've still got the character's pegged out. I had this sit on my desktop for a while before I finished the last half of it.

I think nearly all of Blinky's backstory from the crews point of view is out there. Though, Inara's up to something... Wonder what?

Comments are welcome, as always.


	3. Chapter 3

"You told him River was your daughter?"

"Well, not so much told as nodded and tried not to swallow my tongue." Ducking under a low section of piping, Mal headed down the corridor leading to the cockpit. "Both were done well, I might add." Pausing in the small buffer section between the corridor and the bridge, Mal reflected. "Matter of fact, best nod I've given in my life." Nodding as if that was significant, Mal stepped into the bridge. "Wash, status?"

"You can't just let th-"

"We'll be clear of atmo in five Captain." Cutting Simon off, Wash craned his neck to peer over his shoulder at the pair. "I hear you're a proud poppa now Cap'n. When do you start passing out the cigars?" Grinning, he turned back just in time to see a descending craft cut across their flight path. "Woah!" Jerking the steering yoke to the side, Serenity pitched sharply, engines groaning in complaint. "Not my fault!"

Stumbling as the deck suddenly shifted beneath him, Simon groped for a stable handhold. His fingers caught the only steady object within arm's reach.

"Wash." Mal's tone dropped, a warning that if the situation was not un-mucked up right quick, there would be trouble.

"I'm fixing it, I'm fixing it, hang on." Flicking several switches, Wash fed a little more power to the engines, and straightened the Firefly out. Any other pilot would have throttled back in that situation, but Wash had come to find that Serenity ran smoother if he just bulled her though whatever trouble was at hand. "See? Fixed." Grinning, Wash leaned back in his chair as the trembling that had made the vessel vibrate wildly ceased, completely at ease. He was at the helm, and as long as Serenity was flying, all was right with the 'verse.

Despite the rapid pitching of the deck, Mal himself had remained rooted as if he were a tree, and Serenity were rich, fertile earth. Not a force in the 'verse could have moved him while he was on that ship, and woe to the man who tried. "Doctor." Mal's tone was casual, conversational even, as he pried Simon's hands from his suspenders.

"You can't just let that man assume River is your daughter." Hauling himself back upright, Simon just bulled back into conversation, much as Serenity had done a moment ago. Gathering his shredded dignity, Simon smoothed down his shirt. "If he-"

"Seems to me, if Blinky's thinkin' that River's my little 'un, he won't be thinkin' that she's _your fugitive sister_ anytime soon." Adjusting his suspenders, Mal turned and sauntered out of the cockpit. "Call me when we're near atmo Wash. I'll be in my bunk."

-

"So." Blinky sat at the common room table, a blank expression on his face.

"So." Sitting across from him, River mirrored his expression, as well as his posture.

"Heh-hem." Shifting uncomfortably, Binky blinked as River matched his movements, lowering her voice to imitate his throat-clearing noise. Frowning, Blinky slumped to one side.

River slumped too.

Tilting his head in the other direction, he cocked an eyebrow.

River tilted and cocked.

Straightening up, Blinky leaned forward and stared.

Hunching forward, River stared back.

A long, uncomfortable silence passed.

Then River blinked.

"Hah. I win." Smiling smugly, Blinky leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "A worthy foe, at last."

"You cheated." River mumbled glumly.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Prove it."

Slumping over, the small girl curled one arm on the table, resting her cheek on it. "Looked down the barrel at me." One finger dragged over the wooden tabletop, tracing the dark lines of it's grain. "Treated me like a target. Nothing but paper and ink to be used up and tossed aside." Hot tears trickled down the girl's cheeks, she could feel the walls breaking down around her.

"Hey hey hey, don't talk like that." Groping for some sort of comforting thing to say, he reached over and caught River's hand, gently squeezing it. "Nobody wants to toss you aside."

"They do though." Her hand went limp between Blinky's fingers. "Use me up from the inside out, turn me about like a sock... Sewed me up. They used the wrong thread though. Black on green, he can see it." River's voice rose unsteadily, her shoulders trembling as the tears flowed. "It's all wrong and can't be fixed."

Blinky stared down at the small girl, feeling a swell of pity in his middle. "What's the color of thread matter to the sock?" He gave her hand another squeeze. "Keeps it out of the trash heap, right?"

River sniffled, looking up at him with wide, unseeing eyes. "You don't blink because you're scared."

Blinky stared back at River, remaining silent.

"You remember when you blinked, and someone was gone. You don't want to blink again, you're scared people will go when you do. You were too small to do anything, but you know that you could have, if you hadn't blinked." River sniffled again, closing her eyes. "Even when you sleep, you don't close your eyes on your own."

Blinky's lips twitched for a moment, as if he were about to open his mouth, then changed his mind. Instead, he dabbed at the corner of River's eyes with his shirt sleeve, then carefully mopped her cheeks. "Our secret, ok?"

"Lock it up like a trigger." River looked up at him, a hint of a smile on her face. "Keep it safe until it's needed."

"Exactly." He could feel her slim fingers wriggle against his hand, and he eased his hold. Instead of pulling away, River shoved her hand into his, squeezing tight. Smiling down at her, he felt a sudden possessive need to take care of the little waif-like girl. "So, ever field stripped a rifle before?"

-

"If you have your doubts, why come to me, and not the Captain?" Shepard Book lifted his teacup to his lips and sipped quietly. He always found that, despite his differences with Inara, purely theological ones, she was a comfortable person to spend time around.

"The Captain doesn't always listen to what I have to say Shepard, nor does he always use his better judgement when he acts." Inara stared into the depths of her own teacup. "At least, I pray that it's not his better judgement he uses when he acts."

"Lord help us if it is." Burying a smile, Book sipped his tea again. "So, you believe that his friend really has turned his loyalty towards the Alliance. Forget the 'why' for the moment, and let's focus on the 'how' that you're going to use." Book wrapped the fingers of both hands around his cup, and reclined in the delicately velveted seat he was occupying. "Fingerprinting is a tricky business if you're inexperienced at it." Feeling the warmth of the cup soak into his hands, Book examined Inara's face for a moment. "Something tells me that that's not the case though."

Remaining silent, Inara was content to let Book carry on. The Shepard's train of thought was best left uninterrupted, he was a canny soul, after all.

"If you were to deliver his prints to a local Fed and demand a scan through, there could be trouble. If he is a deep cover operative, you'd be detained for endangering his mission. On the other hand, if he's not, and his story is true..."

"Then I'd be the one responsible for selling one of Mal's friends out to the Alliance." Inara glumly stared at her rapidly cooling tea, noting the lack of steam drifting from the rim of the cup.

"A delicate situation at best. Perhaps we should let the Captain know of your doub-"

"No!" Inara shook her head, and continued in a lower tone. "No. If I came to him with this, he'd either over-react, or do something stupid." Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head. "I can't do anything until I have proof, one way or another."

"Perhaps we could find a solution if we explored other options?" A faint gleam twinkled in Book's eye.

-

Bright white cloth swept shiny metal tube, over, and over, and over. Thin, well cleaned fingers lifted a bottle, unscrewing the lid, and applied cleaner. Again, the cloth swept the tube, and came back just a little less white.

Another cloth followed the first, removing any traces of cleaner. Again the fingers plucked a bottle. Unlike the first, this fluid wasn't thin and clear, but dark and oily. It was daubed on in places, and a fresh cloth swept along the tube's length, dragging the lubricant all over.

After a few moments, the tube was set upon the table, on yet another cloth. After a few moments, River realized the object has lost it's purpose, and swept her small hands down to scoop up the tube. She peered into one end of it, wondering if it's purpose had drawn within, and was waiting for someone to call it out.

"Y'all're gonna catch hell from Mal." Jayne lingered at the entrance to the common room, heasitant to come any closer to the table while River was holding any part of a weapon. Not because he was afraid, no sir. It was because he wasn't stupid, 'least, not as stupid as that.

"Why? Because I'm letting her touch a disassembled barrel?" Blinky folded up the wet, used cloths, and set them in a pile. "Or are you afraid of guns?" Tightening the lid on the bottle of cleaner, he did the same for the gun oil, and set them aside next to the cloths.

Letting out a disgusted snort, Jayne turned on his heel, and stumped up the corridor.

Shrugging, Blinky picked up a small screwdriver, and in a matter of a few moments re-assembled the magazines he had taken apart and cleaned. "Figured out what it's for yet?" He kept one watchful eye on River, just in case she accidentally poked herself in the eye or something. That was about the extent of the danger of the barrel at the moment. Unless she licked it. "Don't lick it." _Better safe than dead._

River gave him a look she usually reserved for when Simon was being particularly dense, and turned the barrel over in her hands. "It's impotent."

A rush of air escaped Blinky's nostrils, and he stifled the uncharacteristic desire to giggle like a madman. _Where did _that_ come from?_ "Well, yes, in a manner." Stacking the mags off to the side, he picked up a small, foam lined, plastic case. "The potency is right here." Undoing the lock, he slid the case over toward her.

Ever so carefully setting down the barrel in the exact spot she had picked it up from, River ran her fingers over the top of the case, feeling the surface of the dimpled lid. "This doesn't seem to be very potent." River ran her fingers over the side of the case. "The cat misses it's seat."

Giving River an odd look, he reached over and lifted the lid, revealing rows of small brass cylinders. The polished metal shells gleamed faintly in the soft light of the common room.

Eyes widening, small hands drifted down to lift a shell from the case, fingers moving to trace the small letters stamped into the base of the cylinder. "Eff, eye, en." River lifted her gaze to fix on Blinky's face. "Succinct."

"Huh?"

"Concise."

"Um..."

"Short."

"Oh." Reaching over, Blinky gathered up a handful of shells, and began feeding them into a magazine, one by one. "These are point seventeen ach em ars. I hand-load the rounds myself, because border-world armorers usually cut in about twenty percent crap." Sliding a magazine over to River, he picked up a few shells, and held them out. "Know the trick to filling magazines?"

River stared at the shiny objects in his hand. "Feed the rounds with index finger, and thumb. Seat them well, or the firing pin won't be able to strike the primer."

"... Uh, yeah." Clearing his throat awkwardly, he took River's hand, turned it over, and pressed the shells into her palm. "Get to it then, I'm not paying you by the hour."

"Compensation is expected by the workforce." River wriggled her fingers, shifting the metal shapes around in her hand. "Strikes are common, if the workers are unhappy. Demands are given, and bodies are floating face-down in the water by the morning."

Blinky gave the girl a blank stare. "I'm not giving you a raise."

River turned up her nose, closed her eyes, and looked away. "A walkout then." She wriggled her fingers again, feeling the tiny letters against the equally tiny lines in her skin.

"Fine, fifteen percent."

"Twenty."

"Seventeen, my final offer."

"Done." Smiling, River picked up the magazine, and began feeding in the shells as if she had been doing it all her life. It was a scary sort of practiced movement she possessed.

Pushing another empty magazine across the table, Blinky filled another himself, thinking quietly for a moment. He waited until River was halfway finished the second magazine before he spoke up. "You realize that I'm not paying you anything to begin with."

An impish smile turned up the corners of River's mouth. "A copper for a kiss."

Blinky blinked. "That's fine, but you don't have a copper to give me."

River's smile switched off. She stared at Blinky, like he was a three headed cow, or some other oddity. After a moment, she held up one of the shiny rounds.

"That's more lead than copper." Setting the filled magazines off to the side, he picked up a T shaped piece of metal. "And it's already mine anyways."

Sticking out her tongue, River set the round down. "Reaper of enjoyment."

Blinky shuddered. "Did you have to say 'Reaper'?" _Sounds too much like 'Reaver'._ Silence passed, and Blinky fitted the T shape into a blocky housing. After a second or two of fiddling, the bottom half of the gun, connecting the grip, trigger, and stock, was mated to the receiver.

"These shapes are special." River turned the bullet over in her hands once more, eyes fixed on the casing, as if she could see the secrets hidden within it's metallic depths. "They glow different, let people know the danger." River lifted the bullet higher, still turning it over in her fingers, though she could now see Blinky's fuzzy outline behind it.

"Yeah. The muzzle flash is violet." Blinky fussed with the receiver, then set it down, reaching for the cleaned and oiled barrel he had set aside earlier. "It's because-"

"Because you cut in three parts potassium sulfate, one part potassium nitrate." River smiled, peering at the base of the shell, staring at the tiny FIN stamped into the copper.

"That's right." A little unnerved by the uncanny observation, Blinky tried to take it in stride, adding it to the list of seemingly impossible things the girl knew and could do. Fitting the barrel into it's housing, he attached the upper to the lower with a long pin, carefully tapping it into place with a tiny hammer and a punch.

"Didn't know _rifle experts_ used kiddy toy rounds in their guns." Jayne dropped his large collection of firearms onto the table, sneering over them at Blinky. "You'd be lucky to drop a rat with one of those-"

"Point seventeen HMRs, wide man." Blinky's face hardened, and he snapped the upper and lower together with a turn of his wrist. "Hotloaded and modified in the Glaser style when I need to work." Tugging back the charging handle, Blinky let it drop on the empty chamber with a significant _th-chack._ "A wound is a wound. On the battlefield, just one is usually enough to end someone's day."

"And how do you plan on gettin' past armor with those little toy rounds of yours?" A hint of admiration had crept into Jayne's tone.

"Tungsten forty-five long colts." Flicking the safety on, Blinky set the rifle down on the table.

"How? You pull a barrel-swap out in the open?"

"I always carry a spare upper in my gear bag. If I don't have a backup rifle with me, I hand-feed single shells into the upper. It gets the job done."

"Tch." Sitting down, Jayne scooped up a large pistol and pulled the slide off. "You got an answer for everything, don't you little man?"

"They didn't recruit me because of my singing voice."

-

"So, what do you think of Mal's old friend?" Wash punched a few buttons on his console, then locked in the steering yoke, turning to look up at Zoe. "Kind of a quirky guy, don't ya think?"

"Dear, he's my friend too." Zoe folded her arms over her leather vest, leaning back against the side of the co-pilot's console, giving her husband one of her slightly weary looks.

"Oh, right. Old army buddys." Wash looked down for a moment, thoughtful. His gaze sprang back up, along with his cheer. "Are you gonna sing army songs?"

"What is it with you and the songs?" Zoe let her eyes droop closed.

"I like 'em. They're... Bouncy."

"You wouldn't think that if you heard Blinky sing them." A pained note crept into Zoe's tone.

"Voice like a trash compactor?"

"Like listening to Jayne's thinking on vectors and thrust angles."

Wash winced. "Ooohh, that bad huh?"

"Worse."

"You lie."

"On my honor as-"

"A warrior woman?" Wash perked up, his eyes twinkling merrily.

"As a warrior woman." Zoe resisted the urge to smile indulgently. "Serenity herself would cringe and keel over at the sound of it."

An alarm began blaring in the cockpit, high and ear-painingly rapid. Swearing, Wash scrabbled at the controls. "She was just kidding! Kidding!" Wash half-turned in his seat towards Zoe. "Honey, tell the nice ship that you were kidding."

-

_Take me out, into the black, tell 'em I ain't coming back._

Chapter three finished, and long overdue.

Very long scene involving River in the middle there. I hope I got my River-isms down pat.

As to the question of River claiming Mal was her daddy... Well, at first it was just a good joke, I thought. Then it made for a funny second joke. I watched Bushwacked today while I was writing the chapter, and wondered... When River said that daddy was coming to take them home, could she have been to Mal, as he's like a father figure to most of the crew?

But now... I think it's become something of a running gag.

You're welcome to your shiney hat though.


End file.
